


Victorian Secrets

by 221A_brina, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Art Auction, Art show, Can I Buy You For Dinner?, Charity Event, Ev’ry Girl’s Crazy ‘Bout a Sharp Dressed Man, F/M, Fashion Show, Hugh'll never guess, Hungry Jack!, Modern AU, Real life celebrity Aussies, Real life charity, Runway models, What's Victoria's Secret?, What's for dessert?, Wing-ing it, bang for your buck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221A_brina/pseuds/221A_brina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: Phryne gets the gang to help on a charity endeavor.





	1. Beg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parisian_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parisian_girl/gifts).



> Whoever you are, dear prompter, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Prompts: 
> 
> 1) An art/fashion AU  
>  2) I’d love to see a glimpse of aunt-niece style relationship developing between Mac and Jane – perhaps Jane shows some interest in some kind of medical studies.  
>  3)   
>  [Sorry I couldn’t figure out how to include the quote. 3 outta 4 ain’t bad?]
> 
> The Good Friday Appeal is a real charity fundraiser for the Melbourne Royal Children’s Hospital which began in 1931. In 2018, a record high of over $18 million AUD was reached.
> 
> In this fic, Jane’s age is 19, and Kip is 22. 
> 
> And many thanks to my last minute emergency beta Seldarius. You Rock! (And saved my ass… and the fic.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a bit of begging and a slew of sass.

“Can I, Phryne? Please?” Jane begged her guardian, fingers interlaced in hopeful supplication. 

“It’s not up to me, sweetie. You’ll have to ask Uncle Mac. It’s her call,” Miss Fisher replied, nodding in the direction of her oldest friend with a twinkle in her eyes. She hid the smirk on her lips behind a cut crystal tumbler of whiskey. 

The stylishly attired doctor currently draped on the chaise, feet crossed at the ankles showing off dapper brogues, rolled her eyes at the joke and slid further down into the soft cushions, in vain attempting to hide a burgeoning grin from her ‘niece.’ 

Jane had scooted over and was now kneeling on the floor next to the chaise, her clasped hands resting on the chaise back. With flourish and eyes as soft and wide as an orphaned puppy, she repeated her entreaty, batting her eyelashes, adding a pout for good measure - a ploy she had, no doubt, perfected under the expert tutelage of the master. Phryne no longer bothered to hide her glee at the scene, and gave her ward an exaggerated wink. 

“Pleeease Uncle Mac! Pretty please!” Jane switched tack mid-stream curling her head into her aunt’s shoulder rubbing it back and forth like a happy kitten. 

At the first nudge on her shoulder, Mac coughed and sputtered in an exaggerated manner, waving her hands and pushing away the pleading ‘pet’ at her side. 

“Away! Go! Git! You’ll put me into a diabetic coma with all that sugar!” Her cinnamon tinted lips curved into a broad smile. 

“So? Is that a...” 

“Yes?” Mac asked as she sat up and smoothed down her copper locks, only to have them immediately mussed as an over exuberant 19-year-old tightly squeezed her in a bear hug. Loud squeals bombarded her eardrums as she struggled for breath under the onslaught the enthusiastic young lady. 

“Mmmph... ger... ff... me or I’ll have you surgically removed,” she chuckled, trying to push the squealing girl off her. “It may just be worth the sacrifice of a limb,” Mac added as she manhandled Jane’s arm. “Not mine, of course. Mine’s far too valuable to hack off. This one, however...” she pondered, gripping the elbow in front of her, turning the appendage this way and that. “I think amputation above the elbow right here would be... Oof! Ow!” 

Her last words were cut off as the aforementioned arm was quickly jerked away only to have a fist punch into Mac’s upper arm with considerable force. 

“Uncle Maaac!” Jane all but shouted, rolling her eyes at the same time. “So, can I really?” 

“It’s ok with me, but I’ll have to clear it with the event coordinator. Logistics, legalities. Blah, blah, blah. You know the routine." The doctor leaned forward, grabbed her crystal tumbler and finished off her whiskey in one gulp. 

As Mac rose to get a refill, she was nearly knocked back onto the chaise by the still bubbling teen wrapping her into another tight hug. Jane leaned in and kissed her aunt on the cheek which earned her a sour face and a snarky comment. 

“God... aren’t there vaccinations for that sort of thing?” Mac protested. 

“You know you love me,” Jane sassed right back and winked at her guardian who raised her glass in a silent toast, her face aglow, the very picture of a proud mother. 

The doctor burst into a rich and sonorous laugh, reaching for the retreating teen and swatted her on the butt just before Jane raced out of the room and up the stairs. 

“Don’t push your luck, toots! I know how dispose of a body,” she called after the girl. Then she looked over at her best friend, who was currently refilling her glass. Mac stuck out her tongue and winked.

“I’m going to call Kip and tell him!” could be heard echoing down the stairway accompanied by the sound of rapidly diminishing pounding footfalls as Jane disappeared up to her room. 

“Provisionally!” Mac shouted. 

A faint voice floated down with a giggled “What. Ev. Err!” immediately followed by the slamming bedroom door of a teen who wanted privacy while she made her phone call. 

Mac snorted and leaned against the piano to face Phryne whose face looked like she was about to burst into gales of laughter. “I don’t know why or how I manage to put up with all this pap and drivel. It’s disgusting.” She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated look of sufferance. 

“We both know you adore her, Mac. I can see right through you,” Phryne quipped, uncrossing her legs and coming to stand next to her friend. 

Mac poked Phryne’s bicep emphatically. “And if you tell her, she’ll be as insufferable as you are. I don’t need another sappy sod lording that load of rubbish over my head.” She snickered, bringing her glass to her lips before realizing that it was still empty. 

“Oh, face it, Mac... you think you’re such a cynical, jaded, hard-ass, but you’re just a big squishy teddy bear with a soft, gooey center.” Phryne countered, tucking her head on Mac’s shoulder. 

“Don’t **make** me downgrade my Hippocratic Oath to a mere suggestion. I have killed people for less,” Mac’s mouth curved into a wry smile. “And you’ll never find where I hid the bodies.” She smirked, her eyebrow rising suggestively. 

Phryne reached around Mac, hugged her from behind and left a big red kiss on her cheek. 

“I don’t know why I put up with this crap from you ingrates.” She leaned in and left a matching cinnamon tinted kiss on her cohort’s cheek. 

Phryne headed for the drinks cart. “I just keep you around for my own personal amusement.” 

“Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that, sister,” the doctor volleyed back as she sidled up to the cart, hand out and tumbler extended for a refill. 

“Make yourself useful. One more for the road?” 

“Do you think that’s wise?” Phryne inquired, refilling the glass in front of her. “Don’t you have a meeting with the board in,” she looked at her watch, “Christ! An hour?” He eyes went wide realizing the time. 

“If I have to face that battle-axe of an aunt of yours, I’ll need all the fortification I can get,” she admitted, downing the drink in a single gulp. 

“Battering ram, maybe. Axe? Not so much.” Phryne countered, following her friend by filling and downing her whiskey in rapid succession. “At least she’s finally beginning to warm up to you, Mac. In fact, I’d go so far as to say she’s even got a soft spot for you.” She winked at her bestie and giggled. 

“Remind me to do a mental health work up on you, I think you’re overdue.” Mac bit back as she deposited the tumbler on the cart. She grabbed her jacket from the top of the piano, flung it over her shoulder in a jaunty manner, adding a brow waggle. "Wish me luck?” 

“You’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got a gauntlet of my own to run as well,” she added, glancing at her watch again. “In fact, I just have enough time to change before I have to meet up with Hugh.” 

Mac rolled her eyes as she edged towards the front door. “An absolute hardship for you, I’m sure.” She slapped Phryne’s shoulder and reached for the doorknob. 

“I should see if Hugh and his partner-in-crime can join us for cocktails and a bit of nosh later?” 

Mac froze mid-motion, her jaw dropping. “Don’t you DARE joke about that! You do and I’ll have your guts for garters!” Her face drained of all color. 

“I’d never toy with you about that, doll. I swear.” She looked at her dearest friend, all seriousness. 

“If you can pull that off... ,” Mac began, her hand tightly gripping her friend’s forearm. 

Phryne patted the hand on her arm in a reassuring manner. “Go... work your miracles, and I’ll go work mine. I’ll text you later where we’re having drinks.” 

“That confident, are we?” Her hand released its grip on Phryne’s arm and once again reached for the doorknob. 

“You should know by now that Hugh is basically putty in my hands,” her laugh bounced off the open door. 

“Let’s hope.” Mac grinned and leaned in, leaving another, lighter cinnamon tinted kiss on the cheek opposite the previous one. 

“I’ll text you later,” she said, waving as the doctor approached the front gate. “Oh, and Mac?” she called out. 

“Nn… Yes, dear?” Mac turned, amusement in her eyes. 

“You may want to...” Phryne grinned and pointed to her own cheek, then to her departing friend. 

“You too, sweet cheeks,” Mac laughed in return, disappearing around the front hedge. 


	2. Borrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aunt P’s estate is borrowed.

2018 marked the 87th year of the Good Friday Appeal (GFA), a charity event that reached back to the 1930s.

This year’s was different, however. An exciting different. Aside from the usual event, a special gala was being held in conjunction with the Melbourne Museum at the estate of one of Melbourne’s preeminent citizens - none other than Miss Fisher’s Aunt Prudence. It had taken some convincing from her niece before she had agreed to open her home to the Art Auction and Fashion Show Gala to benefit both the Royal Children’s Hospital and the Melbourne Museum. It really was quite clever if Phryne did say so herself. It combined several things she was rather fond of, which also happened to appeal to the wealthy and nouveau riche of Melbourne’s society. It fed their need to spend extravagant amounts of money on art, while at the same time making generous contributions to worthy causes. And as an added bonus there was the chance to win a dinner date with a gorgeous model. Magnanimity on a grand scale combined with great beauty. What more could one want?

Phryne Fisher dashed up the staircase to change for her meeting. As she passed Jane’s room, she could hear muffled squeals interrupted by rapid-fire conversation. She smiled and continued into her room, closing the door behind herself.

Thirty minutes later she was skipping down the stairs. “Mr. B!” she called cheerfully as she headed towards the front door.

“Yes, miss?” came the instant reply, as her ever present butler poked his head out of the dining room.

“Ah. There you are! I might be having some guests over for drinks later,” she said, bringing a finger up to her freshly crimsoned lips. “And maybe a bit of light nosh might be nice, too? Nothing too fancy.”

“No trouble at all, miss. I’m sure I can whip something up,” he smiled at his employer.

“I’ll know how many and when as soon as my meeting’s finished. And since it’s _such_ a lovely day, I think I’ll take the Auburn for a spin.” She grabbed the car keys hanging next to the mirror on the divider, tossed them in the air and caught them, her face lighting up with unrestrained glee.

“Very good, miss.” He nodded, a twinkle in his eye, as he watched her exit. He then turned towards the kitchen, his mind already paging through recipes and ingredients.

* * *

Across town, Dr. Elizabeth Macmillan was in the middle of a board meeting that was going quite painlessly, much to her surprise. Typically, these things tended to go as smooth and easy as pulling teeth, she mused sardonically. In this particular instance, the Committee had unanimously approved the last of the expenses for the charity event, and the preparations for the Good Friday Appeal Gala were almost complete. Of course, where it regarded raising money for the hospital, the board was of the mind of ‘give a little, get a lot.’ Well… it wasn’t as if she could blame them.

She had to hand it to the battle axe… no… she corrected, cocking her head and sending her brows skyward. Battering ram, indeed, she chuffed. Mrs. Stanley had almost single-handedly, aside from a bit of expert finagling on the part of her niece, brought together just the right parties for every aspect of this event. Being one of the preeminent members of Melbourne society most certainly granted one a network of connections, not to mention favors to be called in or given. And Prudence Stanley had all of the above. In spades. Allowing the foundation to ‘borrow’ her estate for this event would stand her in good stead when she needed to cash in that particular marker. She was nothing if not shrewd, mused Mac, a knowing smile lighting her face.

The event coordinator had approved Mac’s request for Jane to be able to shadow her during the Fashion Show. With these kinds of events, it was more of a formality having an on-site medic. The typical issue encountered often being blisters in need of band-aids. There was that rare instance, however, when something happened that required skilled medical personnel. It wasn’t as if Mac would be the only physician there, but it certainly would help having an extra set of hands and eyes present. Besides… it would give Jane a taste of what a ‘stand-by’ gig would entail.

As the last bits of the meeting were being wrapped up in a discussion about a plaque, or something, she wondered how her Phryne was doing with _her_ meeting.

As if summoned, her phone buzzed several times in rapid succession. _Right on cue. ~~Speak~~ think of the devil and she shall appear._ Mac shook her head and smiled. In all her years of knowing Phryne Fisher, she had the most uncanny ability to pop up at the precisely right moment. She extracted her phone from her pocket to read the incoming texts.

|Mini soiree w/Hugh & a few

|Wardlow 7p

|Dinner & drinks - cazh

|D-liteful surprise 4 U!

|U’ll <3 me even more!

|XX - P

The doctor’s heart bottomed out and began pounding at a mile a minute, while her face drained of color.

It was a catch 22 with Phryne’s surprises. Oh, sure… generally they went swimmingly, but there was always that _one_ that would backfire in the most astounding way.

Elizabeth Macmillan prayed with all her might that this particular surprise didn’t fall into the latter.


	3. Steal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there might be a theft? Or not.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was buried behind a wall. Of forms. And requisitions. And reports. And a plethora of paperwork, electronic and otherwise. He dropped his fountain pen on the desk, pushed back from his desk, vigorously rubbed his face, and sighed. This was one of the things he disliked about his job. The minutiae. Some days he really hated it. Especially when his hand cramped until it was numb, which it seemed to be well on its way to becoming at this very moment. 

He gingerly stood up, leg muscles unsteady, atrophied from sitting in one position for so long, and stretched one leg then the other. He thrust his hands above his head, clasping them together and stretched, joints clicking and popping as he extended his arms to the ceiling. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled, dropping his arms to his side and leaned on the side of his desk. 

The quiet calm was interrupted as his desk phone rang. He rolled his eyes and reached over to grab the handset.

“DI Robinson,” he answered crisply, moving back to his chair. “Yes, sir,” he said, and sat down for the duration. Five minutes and some hectic typing on his computer later, he called in his constable.

“Collins!”

“Yes sir!” 

The Inspector fished a sheet from the printer and handed it to his approaching associate.

“If you would, have these officers meet us in the bull pen in 30 minutes. The commissioner just emailed through some changes he would like to make to the coverage for the Gala.” He straightened up the paperwork on his desk, taking the completed items from the out box and handed them to Hugh. “I know Parkinson is at an interview, I’ll fill him in later. And these need to go interoffice to Russell Street.”

“Right away, sir.” Hugh perused the note. “Hmm…” he mused as he exited the office, files in hand.

* * *

An hour later, the Inspector had briefed his officers on the changes to their new assignment. 

Russell Street had been contacted early on by the organizing committee of the GFA, doubtlessly through heavy suggestion of Miss Fisher. The top brass agreed in the wisdom of placing additional constabulary security at the event, in light of the amount of fine art that would be assembled, displayed, and up for auction. The value of which fell in the high hundreds of thousands, if not well over the million dollar mark.

But now, on Mrs. Stanley’s insistence that the police presence might off-put the attendees, the commissioner had capitulated, changing it to a plain clothes operation. The officers would be stationed in various locations around the mansion, posing as guests, staff, and service personnel. Jack was all too aware that this demanded entirely new planning – and evening attire. 

Hugh was put in charge of issuing the informational/bidding packets for the art auction, while his girlfriend and Miss Fisher’s PA, Dorothy ‘Dot’ Williams, would be assisting him and acting as docent for the various works of art up for auction.

The detective had chuckled when he recalled the Deputy Commissioner telling him the theme for the Gala. “Victorian Secrets.” Definitely a clever play on words. One which he was sure Miss Fisher was behind. It would have a silent art auction featuring prominent and up-and-coming Victorian artists, and of course, be taking place in the state of Victoria. 

The other focus of the gala was the fashion show. And who could think of a big fashion show nowadays without conjuring up visions of leggy winged angels in lingerie from the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. Annnnd that’s precisely what had him worried. Especially since his DC told him that his presence was specifically requested for the Fashion Show portion of the Gala. By Miss Fisher. That’s what was giving him indigestion. He always preferred keep things low key on assignments like these, but it seemed no matter what he had in mind, Miss Fisher would invariably throw a monkey wrench into his plans.

But… he did have to admit… grudgingly, at that… that she did have a way of bringing style and flair to his life, not to mention a bit of excitement and adventure now and again. And… well… she had certainly been the focus of many a daydream. In fact… the fashion show was giving him some ideas. Some decidedly… well… After seeing Miss Fisher in that haute couture gown from the House of Fleuri, his mind had gone on quite the trip. Not unlike the one his mind was currently on right now.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. She wasn’t even physically here in his office, yet she was doing her damnedest to distract him once again. 

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. He was just happy he wasn’t the one who had to break it to Collins that he would have to wear period Victorian garb for the Gala. The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher asked for that pleasure, herself. _More power to her. Although..._ he pondered for a few moments… _what he wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when she did._ He shook his head and smiled. Then looked back at his desk. 

The smile slid off his face and fell somewhere into the pile of paperwork. _Best get this over and done with before my shift at the fashion show._

Jack Robinson massaged his hand, grabbed his fountain pen, and got back to work.


	4. With a Little Help From My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which old and new friends gather at Wardlow.

It was later than Phryne had hoped, but she still had plenty of time to prepare before her guests would arrive for the lovely little soiree she was hosting. Nothing fancy; just an informal gathering of old friends and new. And… she was so excited and on pins and needles in regards to her surprise for Mac. She was almost bursting in anticipation of her reaction. She **knew** Mac might plotz, but the sheer joy to be had would be well worth it. It wasn’t often she could pull off something of this magnitude, but when she’d gotten a whiff of the possibility, she jumped on it.

She hummed as she ducked into the shower. While soaking in the soothing warmth and pulsing jets of the water, her sore muscles relaxed, washing away the stress of the day. She mentally reviewed her ‘to do’ list, checking off what she’d accomplished, and making particular note of the few items left to do.

After finally dragging herself out of the shower, she dried off and set about getting ready. The evening promised to be an absolute delight.

As she was sitting at her vanity expertly applying her make-up, Jane knocked on the door to her bedroom, calling out to her.

“Come in, Jane,” she cheerily replied.

“Ooh-la-la…” Jane began. “Going out on a hot date tonight?” she asked and winked, setting her hands on her guardian’s shoulders and catching her eyes in the vanity mirror.

“No, actually. Shocking, I know,” she winked and grinned. “I’m having a few friends over for a casual bite and drinks. Some of whom will be working on the fashion show, though hopefully tonight won’t be all talk of business.” She reached her hand behind her head, cupped Jane’s cheek and blew her an air kiss via the mirror.

Phryne picked up her earrings from the vanity, put them on, then applied one of her favorite lipsticks. Tonight’s shade: a deep crimson. After finishing both tasks, she turned to her ward, who had unceremoniously plopped on the edge of the bed. “What about you? Any plans for tonight?”

“Kip and some of the other models are going over to Aunt P’s. They’re going to do some set-up and work on the runway order, and he asked if I could help out. He’ll pick me up around 7:30-ish, if that’s ok? Then drop me off when we’re through. It might be late.”

“Sure… but…” Phryne started, a mischievous gleam in her eye… “There might be a few people coming tonight that you might like to meet? If you can convince Kip to get here around 7 – which is when I’m expecting everyone, I can introduce you to them before you dash off, and that way you’ll get the chance to meet them before the chaos of the fashion show. What do you think?”

“Uhh… ok? Who’s coming tonight?” Jane agreed tentatively, her brows wrinkling curiously.

“Mmm… just a few old friends and their spouses,” she shrugged innocently, her grin spreading wide. “Kinda want to keep it as a surprise.”

Jane’s eyes lit up. Whenever she heard her guardian use the words “old friend” it oft times indicated an old love, or on occasion meant someone she’d known for ages who was very dear to her. Sometimes, it was someone you’d never expect Phryne Fisher to know. Most of the time Jane was pleasantly surprised. Other times, she was utterly blown away with her jaw plummeting to the floor. With the way Phryne was currently smiling, she had a sneaking suspicion it was of the latter category.

“Ok. I’ll call Kip and let him know.” Jane rose, hugged her guardian, and dashed to her room to call her boyfriend.

Phryne did so love bringing old and new friends together, and this group would certainly be an interesting gathering, all of whom were donating their time on various aspects of the gala. It made her proud having friends who were so generous and big-hearted.

Around twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang, accompanied by a strong set of raps on the front door. She’d have known that knock anywhere. Miss Fisher looked at the clock on her vanity and wrinkled her brows. “Hmmmph… she’s early,” she remarked, noting the time. “Getting the jump on things, eh, Mac?”

She pursed her lips several times, and looked at her reflection. Perfect. Time to get a whiskey into Mac’s hands.

Mr. Butler had hung up Mac’s hat and coat and was ushering her into the parlor by the time Phryne skipped down the stairs.

She put on her game face, mentally pulled up her bootstraps, and thought, _Showtime!_

“You’re here early, Mac,” she said, stating the obvious as she joined her friend at the fully stocked drinks cart.

“Well… in light of your impending surprise, I thought it might behoove me to get a bit of liquid courage down before you spring it on me. Forewarned, forearmed, legged, whatever…” The doctor leaned in and gave her bestie a side hug and a kiss, this time being careful not to leave lip prints on her cheek.

The atmosphere was almost crackling in anticipation, and Mac was on the edge of her seat. Literally. Her butt barely perched on the edge of the chair as she leaned in to Phryne, fingers tightly gripping the cut crystal tumbler in her hands. “Ok… what’s the surprise? And please, dear God, let it not be something that is horrendously embarrassing.”

“It isn’t. I swear. Pinkie swear!” she promised, presenting her curled finger to her friend.

Mac set down her glass and linked her pinky with Phryne’s, rolling her eyes and smirking.

Phryne kept a firm grip on her friend’s finger, covered their hands with her free hand, and set them in her lap. “Well, I found out something about Hugh’s partner in crime.”

“Oh, Christ, Phryne… what did you do?” The color began to drain out of the doctor’s face and her heart began to race. “Damnit! You’re keeping me in suspense. Just rip the band-aid off, woman, and put me out of my misery!” Mac squinted her eyes and winced slightly in anticipation of the revelation.

“Well, she told me that in her next film she’s playing a doctor, and I… kind of mentioned that you’re a doctor and that she might want to consult with you? Pick your brain? Besides, I think you two will get along famously.” She giggled at her own joke.

For several moments it appeared that the good doctor might have expired since she didn’t appear to be breathing, but the rapid pulse visible on her neck indicated otherwise.

“Jee-zus, Mary, and Joseph! Fuck me running! Are you serious? Tell me this is not a joke!”

“No joke.” Phryne simpered, her face was glowing, happy that she could do this for her dearest friend.

Mac quickly lowered her head between her knees and took several deep, calming breaths. As she raised her head, a look of horror spread across her face. “Holy shit… now I’ll owe you big time. Oh, Goddess, I’m screwed.”

“No, you’re not. She’s on your free pass list, right?” Phryne winked and wrapped her arms around her no longer hyperventilating friend, then picked up Mac’s whiskey and handed it to her.

“I’m guessing Cate and Andrew aren’t the only two coming to this little soiree?” Mac asked, settling back into the chair.

“Right you are. All told, there’s three couples coming. Hugh and his wife Deborra-Lee, Cate and Andrew, and Rick and Barbara. You already knew that Hugh… Jackman, that is, and Cate Blanchett are emceeing the fashion show. But what you didn’t know is that we just signed Rick Springfield and his band to do the music for it. We weren’t sure if he’d be able to come, but he managed to squeeze us into his schedule last minute. What a dear.” Phryne took a final swig of her whiskey and set the glass down.

“So… have you recovered enough from the surprise? Or do I need to get a paper bag?”

Mac laughed, nodded and reached into her pocket for her vape. “A few puffs and I’ll be fine.”

* * *

Jane and Kip were introduced to everyone before they dashed off to the Stanley Mansion, and were suitably impressed.

As the evening progressed, Mac and Cate holed up in the window seat, huddled together, chatting intensely, Rick and Hugh gravitated towards the piano, giving a spur-of-the-moment concert with Phryne and Deborra-Lee lending their voices as backing vocals, and Barbara and Andrew shared stories and photos of their kids on their phones.

Mr. Butler had once again outdone himself. Delicious fare, free flowing bubbly, and a flourish of custom drinks - each one a perfect combination of flavors. She was constantly in awe of his knack for knowing just what was needed in any given situation, and providing it before anyone realized they even wanted it. He was a gem of the highest quality. She made a mental note to give him another raise.

The evening went swimmingly. Better than Phryne could have hoped. She was utterly delighted that everyone had a wonderful time and that new friendships had been forged.

Many hours later, after a variety of libations, conversations and revelations, the gathering began to break up. By that time, it was quite late, with everyone begging off in desperate need of sleep in light of a long day of dress rehearsals ahead.


	5. A Wing and a Prayer - Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one angel loses his wings.

The evening of the gala was finally here. The Stanley Estate was beautifully appointed and resplendent, and the attendees were dressed to the nines. Everything had gone without a hitch.

Upon entering the mansion, guests were funneled from the entrance hall into the drawing room where drinks and hors d’oeuvres were available. From there, the visitors stepped on through the gallery, and into the library where a number of sculptures were on display. The next stop was the sitting room. Here, information on the artists featured in the auction was available, as well as literature about the Good Friday Appeal, the Royal Children’s Hospital, and the Melbourne Museum. At the far end of the sitting room, an opening led to the dining room, which housed the paintings for the Silent Art Auction.

The latter had been redressed as a Victorian drawing room, with the paintings lining the walls in a tight pattern, as was typical in that era. Several chairs and end tables were strategically placed around the room to give the guests room to linger and find that perfect piece of art they desired to take home. A chaise with a matching end table was the crowning glory featured in the center of the room. An antique glass front cabinet on the far wall housed the auction packets which Constable Collins would distribute to any interested bidders. A number of LED candelabra added touches of warm light to the room.

Dot, also dressed in Victorian era clothing, had been answering questions about the various works of art as the guests trickled in. Some breezed through, giving a cursory glance to the walls, and ‘playing through,’ while others took their time, examining each painting on every wall. A few of the guests went directly to a particular artwork, getting lost in its colors.

Once through the dining room, the veranda opened out to the central lawn. It had been set up with tents that glimmered with twinkling lights. A good number of tables and chairs were set up for those wishing to sit while enjoying the offered finger foods, or merely to rest their feet.

The pool sunken to the side of the lawn and surrounded by several open bars, reflected the lights on shallow waves. Candlelit floral arrangements floated on the surface of the water, and paper lanterns hung on the bowers and trellising. The whole area had an air of an ethereal fairy wonderland.

Nestled between the mansion and pool lay the ballroom, home to the fashion show. Here, bustling activity stood in stark contrast to the peaceful night outside. Prerecorded music was playing as ushers handed out the electronic bidding handsets and directed the guests towards the seating. The band was filing on stage next to the runway entrance curtain. As the start time was drawing nearer and people found their seats, the hectic activity was replaced by a low buzz of anticipation, which belied the atmosphere backstage.

Behind the curtain, people were dashing to and fro. Costumes and wings were pulled off racks and dressed on the models, and accessories hastily added; make-up artists made final touches, hairstylists spritzed and sprayed. Black garbed stage crew wearing headsets directed the models to their starting positions. The view backstage could only be described as organized chaos.

“Alright everyone, this is it!” announced the general stage manager. “Places, please! I need the first line of She-Devils…”

A drumroll sounded and a spotlight aimed at the podium revealed emcees - Hugh Jackman and Cate Blanchett - standing at attention, broad smiles on their faces. Once the applause died down, Hugh began the introductions, opening the show and a hush fell on the ballroom; the atmosphere crackled with excitement. Cate continued by introducing the band to the opening strains of “What’s Victoria’s Secret?” A wild, frenetic whirlwind swept everyone up in its path, delivering its full force into a single point as the first model paraded down the catwalk amidst a thunder of applause and cheering.

The female models were dressed in a wide variety of lingerie as was typical in a Victoria’s Secret show, but in this show, instead of wearing angel wings, they wore bat wings and other devilish accessories like horns or tails. It was Miss Fisher’s suggestion in a clever play on words – that since this show was in Victoria… Down Under, why not dress the women as devils, therefore, having the male models wear angel wings. Some of the men would be in undergarments while others would be wearing men’s lounge wear. Leave it to Phryne Fisher to turn things upside down.

As the show progressed, Hugh introduced each of the female models, as they stepped on stage, while Cate undertook the introduction of the men. So far, the show was proving to be a great success. The back stage monitors showed various views of the runway, and as there was in the front of house, an additional monitor showed the incoming bids on each of the models as they traversed the runway. Some of the models would have more than one run down the runway, which the emcees made sure to announce, while a select few only were featured once.

Jane, who had little to do as Mac’s assistant, snuck behind the curtain to search for Kip and send him on stage with a good luck kiss. By the time she had discovered his location in the change areas, the show was already midway through, leaving her a scant minute or two to wish him well. Instead of an excited Kip, she found him on the floor, face contorted, cradling his stomach with his hands, and beads of sweat glimmering on his forehead.

“Ohmigod, Kip! What’s wrong? Are you ok?” she asked, flinging herself to her knees.

He groaned.

“My stomach is killing me and I feel like I’m going to throw up.” He took several stuttering breaths as she put her hand to his forehead.

“You’re burning up! Hold on, ok? Lemme go get Mac. Stay here.” He did as he was told, watching her dash off to find her aunt.

On her way to the medic station, her path crossed a stage manager’s, who she quickly informed of the situation and asked to pass on the dire news to Miss Fisher.

By the time she reached the room set aside for the medical personal, Jane was panting heavily. “Uncle Mac! Come quick! There’s something wrong with Kip.”

To her credit, Mac immediately snapped to attention, grabbed her med kit, and raced out the door, after Jane. On the way back, darting through the chaotic traffic of models and stage crew, her niece filled her in on the little she knew.

Once they reached the men’s dressing area, they found a number of the male models hovering around Kip, who was sitting in a chair hunched over a trash can.

“Alright, gentlemen, if you’d give us some room, please?” Mac barreled in and the crowd dispersed. She got on her knees and dropped her kit. Moments later, her gloved hand rested on his forehead. “Kip?”

He groaned in reply.

“Kip? I need you to sit up for me, ok? I need to get your temperature.” Mac placed the thermometer in his ear. Within moments a red light flashed followed by 3 short beeps. She removed the thermometer, and checked the read-out. “Oh, dear. 39.2,” she noted, replacing the instrument in her bag. “Jane tells me you feel nauseous? And have stomach pain?”

He weakly nodded, his face growing ashen, as a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. “My stomach was bothering me yesterday, but I thought it was probably something I ate. This morning it was a bit worse, but …” he sipped in a breath of air as he hugged himself tighter “…I thought it would go away.”

“Can I get you to sit up for a minute? I need to feel your stomach, alright?”

He nodded slightly as he slowly straightened up.

Mac pressed her hands on his abdomen starting at his upper segment, then proceeded in a downward motion towards the navel feeling the underlying tissue and organs. “Tell me how this feels – if it’s dull or sharp, and where it hurts the most.”

“Unnngh,” he moaned. “The top part is more of a dull pain? Not as bad, but still hurts.” He looked at Mac and then to Jane.

“How about here?” Her hand palpated the area around his navel and moved down to the lower right section of his abdomen, eliciting a sharp hiss.

“Aaagh! Yeah… that _really_ hurts. Sharp. Pain.”

Jane flashed a worried look at Mac. “What’s wrong, Mac?”

“I think he may have appendicitis, but I can’t be absolutely sure without a proper scan. We should get him to hospital right away. If it is, we don’t want it to rupture,” the doctor replied. “Stay here with him while I grab a wheelchair and alert the EMTs.”

One of the stage managers poked his head into the changing area. “Kip… 15 minutes to places.” Noticing that his model was doubled up and the onsite physician was present, he quickly asked, “What’s wrong with Kip? What’s happening here?”

“It seems Kip might have appendicitis. He needs to go to hospital. Right now. I was on my way to inform the EMTs.” Mac reached for her kit.

“Ok. So who’s his back up, then?” the stage manager looked to the two ladies; Mac shrugged and Jane looked daggers at him.

“No idea. Not my area,” Mac said. Looking at Jane, she asked, “Do you know?”

Jane shook her head mutely, then asked her boyfriend. “Kip? Kip. Who’s your back-up?”

Kip looked up from his haze. “No one, now. Andrew had to cancel at the last second. We didn’t have time to find anyone else.”

“Shit!” the stage manager blurted, then clicked on his headset to relay that information to the general stage manager. “That’s going to totally screw us.” He said once he was off headset, still ignoring the death glare from Jane.

“Give me a sec. Lemme call Phryne Fisher. Knowing her, she might have an idea.” Mac slung her kit on her shoulder and pulled out her phone, hitting speed dial. Once connected, she said a few things to Phryne then passed her phone to the waiting stage manager. After about 30 seconds, he handed back the phone. “Fingers crossed,” he said before disappearing.

Jane ignored him as she held onto Kip’s hand as he redoubled in the chair.

Mac told Jane she’d be right back before putting the phone to her ear and dashing back to the medic station to retrieve the wheelchair.


	6. A Wing and a Prayer - Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another angel gains his wings.

Mac returned backstage after sending Jane off with Kip to hospital, and managed to find Phryne among the melee.

Fortunately, Kip was the last model in the show. Unfortunately there was little time to find a replacement, but Miss Fisher was sure she had the perfect solution. She pulled her phone from the bustline of her dress and pressed her most used speed dial button. “Hallo, Jack?” She paused a moment before continuing. “I need you. We’ve had an emergency.” She paused again. “Stage right. Just come through. I’ll sent a PA to meet you. Thank you! You’re the best!”

Mac looked at Phryne, realization dawning. “You can’t be serious! He’ll never…” A shit-eating grin bloomed on her face, laughter threatening.

“Well… he and Kip are around the same size… at least for this outfit. We can make it fit.”

“What’s this ‘we’ kimosabe?” The doctor asked, attempting a straight face.

“C’mon, Maaac… I need your professional game face here; help me convince him.” Phryne pleaded with her friend.

“Oh, alright. But only because I want a ringside seat to this potential disaster,” she laughed.

Seconds later, an unsuspecting Jack Robinson appeared escorted by a PA. Both women turned to the dapper gentleman in the tux, wide eyes looking him up and down. The realization that he had gotten himself into an untenable situation slowly began to bloom on his features.

Phryne carefully sidled up to him and glommed on to his arm. “Jaack…”

He gulped and peered sideways at Miss Fisher, while her companion tried her damnedest not to grin like a fool.

“What do you need…?” Jack sighed.

“We just sent Kip to hospital.”

He looked up, alarmed, opening his mouth to speak, when Phryne interrupted him.

“Possible appendicitis. Jane went with, to keep an eye on him.” She patted his arm to calm him.

“If he’s already in capable hands, what’s the emergency?” he asked warily.

“Well…”

Mac snickered, causing Jack to snap his head in her direction, at which she tried to plaster a look of innocence on it. This didn’t bode well.

“Kip is… _was_ supposed to be the last model for the bidding, but we don’t have anyone else we can put in.” Phryne batted her lashes at the somber detective.

As realization began to dawn, he began to pull away from Miss Fisher, which caused her to tighten her grip on his arm that much more.

“Oh, no, no, no… You’re not getting me in one of those skimpy get-ups!” He protested, still trying to break away from her vice grip on his arm.

“It’s not skimpy… believe me. You’ll be covered from head to toe… well not your toes.” Phryne grinned and looked over to Mac, then back to the inspector.

Jack cocked his head and squinted at Mac, silently pleading for help.

The redhead threw up her open palms, saying, “I’m just an innocent bystander.”

Just then, a stage manager came by and approached Miss Fisher. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but whoever you have picked as Kip’s replacement, we’ll need him ready to go on in 10.”

Jack gulped, his heart plummeting into his stomach.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jack Robinson found himself barefoot, dressed in a shawl collared midnight blue smoking jacket and black silk satin pajama pants. The jacket was belted, but opened enough to display some of his bare chest, and the pants slung low on his hips. Behind him perched a matching set of blue feathered angel wings with a smattering of sapphire and silver sparkles. Needless to say, he felt completely foolish.

His hands hung sweaty and fidgety by his side while he mentally chastised himself for letting himself get roped into another one of Miss Fisher’s hairbrained schemes. He shook his head. Before he could think any further, a stage manager approached him, and asked, “Alright, Jack?”

The dazed inspector nodded numbly.

“Once you get through the entrance,” the stage manager continued, “pause when you’re even with the emcee’s stand – it’s on your right. Cate will introduce you, then walk you down the runway. Just walk down the runway to the end with her. At the end, she’ll step aside for you. Pause a moment, pose to your left, then right, then pause again. Once you’ve done that, turn around and she’ll walk you back.”

His instructions washed over the nervous inspector, doing nothing to calm his anxiety. Jack tried to clear his dry throat and nodded silently.

“Alright… Jack… GO!” the stage manager said loudly over the audience applause, pointing to Jack as he did.

He took his first tentative steps through the curtain, blinded momentarily by the spot lights. He heard Cate Blanchett announcing his name and something else after it. What it was, he couldn’t hear over the pounding in his ears and the cheering in the audience. Moments later, she approached him, taking his arm and smiling.

“Hi, Jack. I’m Cate. I want to thank you for being such a good sport and helping us out last minute like this.”

“Uhh… you’re welcome?” he stuttered, unable to believe he was on the arm of Cate Blanchett.

“Phryne can be ever so persuasive, can’t she?” she chuckled, her eyes sparkling.

“You have no idea,” he agreed whole heartedly.

“Care to take a walk with me, Jack?” Cate smiled and nodded as Hugh Jackman began his announcement.

“And our last man down the runway is Jack Robinson, who is graciously filling in as a last minute replacement for one of our models who fell ill.”

The crowd hushed a bit as sympathetic noises blended into applause and cheers.

“He may not be a model by trade, but no doubt a model citizen as he hails from City South Police Station and is a Detective Inspector,” Hugh continued.

More cheers, applause and even a few wolf whistles could be heard as the pair strode down the runway.

“And yes, ladies, DI Robinson is available to bid on for the dinner date auction. Your bid handsets should have been updated, so bid fast and often.” Hugh smiled and pointed to the screen closest to him which showed the bid status for the inspector.

The bidding started at $500 dollars and was increasing in $50 increments. It kept rising in spits and spurts, reaching $1000, then $1500, then almost $2000.

Jack and Cate had almost reached the top of the runway, and by this time Jack had noticeably relaxed. Right before she was to let him go and step aside, she leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Just go with this, ok? It’ll drive up the bidding. I promise.”

Jack looked on in consternation and tried to shrug. With the weight of the wings on his shoulders, it shook them slightly, making it look like a gentle flapping.

Cate let go of Jack’s arm and threaded her hand down to pull open his sash, thereby exposing his muscled chest and faint treasure trail. The inspector bit his lip in order to keep him from covering himself up. A round of hoots, howls, applause and cheers flooded his ears as he took a step forward and tried to remember what the stage manager had told him to do. He faced left, then forward. In the crowd he found Phryne’s eyes. She winked at him and he raised his chin. He could do this. He turned to the right, perched a fist on his hip as he once again faced the end of the runway. He paused for a moment more, before finally hoping to flee the stage. Cate was waiting for him and once again, took his arm to lead him to the curtain.

As they walked back, Cate nudged his side and nodded her head towards the bidding monitor. “Looks like you’ve got the ladies in an uproar, Jack.” She smiled conspiratorially.

He followed her line of vision and his eyes lit on the monitor. The numbers were going higher and higher, much to his astonishment. The bidding seemed to plateau around $7500.

“Well done, Jack. You did very well for a last minute pinch hitter. Bravo!”

“Thank you, Ms. Blanchett. This was made infinitely more pleasant by having you as my escort,” Jack whispered.

“You really ought to call me Cate,” she winked and smiled beatifically.

“Cate it is, then.” Jack acquiesced, graciously.

As she was letting go of his arm to return to the podium, she directed him to turn back to the audience and take a bow before he exited the stage.

The time clock on the bidding screen was counting down to its close. The bid amount had stopped at $7700.

5…

Jack faced forward and bowed.

4…

The next bid was $7800.

Jack turned to his left and bowed.

3…

The numbers halted again.

2…

Jack turned to his right and bowed.

1…

$10,000 flashed on the screen.

0…

A collective gasp rose and the audience went wild, drowning out the band.

Unaware of the screen behind him, Jack proceeded through to back stage, where there was another uproar.

Mac cut through the mass of models and crew to reach Jack.

The stage manager who had sent him on stage approached him, arms extended, shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “What a way to close out the auction there, Robinson. Who knew? Good on ya mate!”

A bewildered Jack Robinson looked to the doctor. “What? What just happened,” he queried.

“You, my friend, were the model with the highest bid.” She laughed and clapped him on the shoulder as well.

“I what?” Still in a daze, he looked at her, confused.

Mac pointed to the backstage bid screen. When his eyes didn’t follow, she grasped his head in her hands and turned it in the direction of the screen. “There,” she explained.

There it was. In bold white letters on a blue screen. His name – Jack Robinson. And under it - $10,000. He was aghast. Someone, someone pleasant he hoped, had bid $10,000 dollars for the privilege of dining with him. He just prayed that whoever it was, they wouldn’t expect anything more than dinner. After all, he was an officer of the law, not an escort.

Moments later, he was again surrounded by many of the models and crew, all congratulating him on his success.

Mac let him bask in the glory for several more minutes before dragging him back to the changing area to get his wings off. “I’m sure you’ll be flying high for quite a while, but I’m pretty sure you won’t need these.”

“It is all rather overwhelming, Mac. I… I’m not sure what to think of it all,” he replied, sitting on a chair, a glazed look passing before his eyes.

“ **I** think… you should get out of those pj’s and get dressed. A little bird told me that a certain lady detective wants to have a word with you.” Mac pointed to his tux hanging on the rack.

“Oh, God… Phryne…” He bent over and placed his face in his palms and elbows on his thighs.

“Pip, pip. Get a move on Robinson. She’s on her way.” Mac moved to leave, but before she did, Jack managed to call her back.

“Is there any way to find out who the winning bidder was?” He looked up, his eyes pleading.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the doctor said with a glint in her eye, and departed.

* * *

Ten minutes later a tuxedoed Jack Robinson exited the men’s changing area, almost colliding head on with the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher.

“Ahh, Miss Fisher…”

Phryne approached him, standing toe to toe with him, and placed her hands on his chest.

“I want to thank you, Jack, for filling in for Kip. You were wonderful! And… you managed to be the highest bid out of all the models. Well done, Inspector! I’m suitably impressed.” Her hands threaded his lapels as she captured his gaze, steady and unwavering.

“I’m a bit astonished myself. I asked Mac if she could find out who my generous patron is.” He looked around in search of the doctor.

“I think I might have an idea.” Phryne tugged on his lapels, bringing him closer, and licked her lips.

His eyes blew wide. “Ten thousand dollars? For a dinner? That’s a bit pricey for a meal, Miss Fisher, even for you.” He chuffed, amazed at her ability to whittle a $10,000 charitable contribution down to a simple dinner engagement. “All you had to do was ask.”

She leaned in, her lips a hair’s breadth from his ear, and whispered, “True, Jack, but you’re worth every penny."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. “What’s Victoria’s Secret?” is actually a song by Rick Springfield and is on his album entitled: “Venus In Overdrive.”
> 
> And, yes… he’s wearing THOSE wings… just in midnight blue as opposed to black. [Thank you my wildly creative Weird Sister! ;o) ]


End file.
